


Tattoos

by extremesoft



Category: Formula 1 RPF, Motorsport RPF
Genre: Anal Sex, Because I suck, Bruises, Dom/sub, M/M, Masochism, PWP, Painplay, Punching, Silly me, Slapping, Smut, and vague feels, i think, i'll still say, it's 3 and 33 back at it again!, oh and barebacking as well, oh well, some kind of established fuckery arrangement, what in the name of jeepers have I done
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-23
Updated: 2019-08-23
Packaged: 2020-09-24 17:10:32
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,600
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20362093
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/extremesoft/pseuds/extremesoft
Summary: (And it sometimes still overwhelms Max, how andwhyDaniel trusts him of all people with this. But he still succumbs to the chest-clenching wave of pride every single time. This belongs to them.This is where Daniel belongs to him.)





	Tattoos

**Author's Note:**

  * For [singlemalter](https://archiveofourown.org/users/singlemalter/gifts).

> OH MY GOD I'VE WRITTEN I'M LITERALLY SHAKING WITH HOW EXCITED I AM TO POST SOMETHING AGAIN!!!
> 
> Okay, okay, sorry about that, I'll let the all-caps be. :'D I just feel like I haven't done anything like this in so long that now that I finally _have_ something again, it makes me burst right out of my seams, I'm so glad to be back at writing kinky bullshittt~!
> 
> Ahem. My muse has been avoiding me for a big chunk of this summer and after it finally decided to come back from its highly unauthorized summer holiday, I couldn't find time anywhere. Bugger. But this is a result of someone very dear proving to be a blessing in no disguise whatsoever when they linked to me [this](https://streamable.com/9rvm4) masterpiece of a video, where Daniel tries to stammer to Will Buxton about pain pleasure and spaces out completely. An inspirational thing, that one, don't you all think? It was to me, at least, apparently, and the result is... well, below. :'D 
> 
> Warnings and all that: Max does really hit Daniel here, and even though it's only on the "meaty parts", it still bloody hurts and causes pain and discomfort and everything. Take appropriate care if doing this at home. I'm not being very graphic anywhere about anything, it's just my usual purple blabber, and this is of course only for fun and kinks but if violence in any form is a trigger for you, I suggest you take caution when reading this. Right? Also, archive warnings for exploiting italics is ever-present in my every text because hey, it's me.
> 
> (I talk too much, don't I? But I just missed this and you all so much!)
> 
> For singlemalter. Sempre foi seu. Obrigado por tudo ❤️
> 
> And as always: enjoy, enjoy all you can, all of you who end up reading this! ^^❤️

Max still remembers having thought about it at some point, at first, after a gush of hesitant, near-apologetic words having been poured over him (and made perhaps easier to say by the couple of beers lubricating them). How he could ever do that to Daniel, treat him like that; how could Daniel even _want_ to be handled like he asked to be handled?

It’s a completely different deal these days, however. With Daniel on all fours before him, bare arse sticking up and moving to his breaths as though beckoning to him (_come on, maul me_), Max feels a titillating high rising inside him. The hair on his arms and legs stirs when he lays his hand on Daniel’s lower back and gives it a rough rub. He owns a kingdom, it’s all for him.  
“Love it when you grope me”, Daniel taunts and shakes his head. Max can sense the impatience and nerves he’s full of like they were his own. “C’mon, we can start already.”  
“Warm-up lap first”, Max chuckles, light like spring rain; and to contrast that the grip he takes of Daniel’s buttock all of a sudden is so sharp it makes his left hand joints blanch and Daniel hiss in pain-slash-surprise. At moments Max thinks he actually takes it all more seriously than Daniel, what with Daniel’s fidgety eagerness sometimes threatening to get the better of him. But then again, he is a perfectionist, to Daniel’s benefit as well. _It’s all about the details_. He holds on tight for a few seconds more, then loosens the grip and follows the ruby glow igniting in where his fingers were buried.  
“Can you just-” Daniel starts and can’t reach the finish line before Max slaps him. Almost weightless at this point, still, merely a pinch of an open palm. Daniel’s right thigh quivers and pinkens but he doesn’t flinch or jerk, only says _yeah, good_; and Max knows he is smiling wide with excitement.

He remembers having thought about it, how he would ever be able to do as asked. Daniel had tried to explain himself (gaze darting from place to place, willing to land anywhere except on Max’s face, antsy fingers moving and moving and moving, outlines flickering in a way that had made him seem oddly ethereal). Then he had moved on to scolding himself (“It’s so fucked up, honestly, don’t you think it’s pretty fucking messed up to somehow enjoy a thing like that?”). Max recalls having said _it’s alright_ so many times that night it had made his tongue stick to his palate.

“I think that wasn’t so good yet, to be honest”, Max grins. He glides his palm swiftly over the meek skin of Daniel’s left buttock and then smacks it - harder this time, the slap’s audible now and it elicits a pointed breath out of Daniel. It’s nothing much, still; but Max takes a hint of pride in how he has learned to control his own strength. Gradually adding power behind each stroke, administering pain, administering <s>love</s> mutual trust, bleeding them into every impact.  
“Getting better”, Daniel says and takes the third slap with a content exhale.

Max had found himself plunging into completely uncharted waters after Daniel had started saying “I don’t know if you-” and then suddenly fallen silent, mouth gaping, right in the middle of the sentence. It had dawned to Max (with the gentleness of a painful blast of sudden fluorescence into eyes used to lulling twilight) how Daniel hadn’t even assumed he would ever understand. And Max had sure had to measure himself, measure with care. _Did_ he understand? He had never thought of pain as anything more than an inconvenience, something to avoid and flinch at, and to think of finding satisfaction in the core of it - hating the tattoo needle yet loving the sting - had tied him in a knot.

“There’s always room for improvement, I think”, Max tuts and the fourth slap is loud and lusty already, draws a _luscious_ grunt out of Daniel. Yes, getting better. 

Max had still found himself understanding Daniel after a few heartbeats’ worth of complete blankness. It had puzzled him, the track his thoughts had followed, fluctuating between two answers for what had felt like an eternity. _Yes. No_. But the more Max had listened and watched Daniel melt apart in front of him, the more Max had seen in himself what he had seen in Daniel -

what is he chasing every time he gets into the car (every time his workout takes him to the edges of throwing up over the balcony railing or collapsing on the ochre-coloured floor tiles) if not a high, too? A cathartic shot of adrenaline and endorphins billowing through his veins and clouding his head heavenly buoyant every time without fail? Isn’t it pretty fucking messed up to somehow enjoy a thing like that as well - and his mind had drifted back to Malaysia at that junction of white noises -, almost puking after the race yet at the same time being senselessly elated about having been able to push the limits that far and gain the grand prize? 

"Harder", hisses Daniel after the fifth and turns his head in an attempt to reach Max's eyes. They catch parts of each other, Daniel's silhouette is light and darkness in the dim halo of the bedside lamp. "Hard as you can, everything you've got. I'll take it, I'll take it."

And they had fallen into the arrangement with an ease that had certainly surprised Max, perhaps Daniel too. Daniel likes pain and bruises, at times, and Max would give him those. Just what a pair of hands could cause, nothing excessive, nowhere visible or dangerous. Simple. Not every time they’d fuck, of course. Daniel would never heal enough to sit through full race length (and being unable to stay in the seat for the full race length because of a bruised backside would certainly be a disadvantage for a racing driver). 

Max rests his right palm on the arch of Daniel's arse again, weighing it, weighing himself. He lifts his hand slowly and gives Daniel's buttock a loud, swift smack then, this time loading the full power his muscles are imbued with behind the blow. Daniel jerks violently forward at the fiery impact, in sync with his high-pitched, agonized wail, body clasping with pain. He's left whimpering for air, torso hanging heavily just inches above his forearms; and Max feels wild, always, heady with the power given to him by Daniel and over Daniel. His ears ring with faint echoes of the sound of the dizzying slap.  
"Fuck, Max, that's-" Daniel pants and makes an effort to get back on all fours again. "That's so fucking good, _shit_."  
"Do you want more?" Max asks calmly. He takes a light hold of Daniel's hip as though trying to steady him. How beautiful, to down only to lift again, the same hands doing both.  
"If you can give", Daniel chokes defiantly. His back buoys up and down with his sharp breaths.

(And it sometimes still overwhelms Max, how and _why_ Daniel trusts him of all people with this. But he still succumbs to the chest-clenching wave of pride every single time. This belongs to them. <s>This is where Daniel belongs to him</s>.)

Max nods, then remembers Daniel can't see it, come to think of it, it was perhaps more to himself than Daniel in the first place. He says _yeah_ and means it; he lifts his hand again and aims carefully, a little more to the side this time. Daniel’s skin is burning, there’s a light, light touch of sweat where Max’s hand meets it, and Daniel’s cry sounds to Max like something from another dimension when muffled by the pillow he’s screaming and biting into. 

“Shit”, Daniel spits into the fabric and fillings. “Fuck.”  
"Does it hurt enough, Daniel?" Max demands again, voice thick with his suppressed heat. He knows they have not touched a limit, not really, but it's both part of the play and Max's way of making sure. _He’ll tell you if you need to stop_, Max reminds himself then - he still has to make himself focus on it at given moments - as he listens to Daniel trying to catch air.  
"No", shoots Daniel somewhere into the air circling him, breathy, and Max can see his cheek move and rounden with what can only be a delirious grin. Beast bares its teeth. “Y’ can do better than that, asshole. That’s not even going to leave a fucking mark.”  
“_Oh_, okay”, says Max in an unfittingly light tone, nonchalant like a shrug become a word, as though he had been in press pen with fifteen microphones crammed down his fucking throat. This is dangerous play, Daniel ridiculing him, working him up in such a _delicious_ way every time, sending an itch of pleasant irritation to stir in his veins and making him want to lay it all out on Daniel’s amenable flesh, waitful in front of him. And he smacks with a quick, open hand once more, as if merely punctuating a sentence - the echo of the slap flees them and pools in the corners of the room - Daniel’s reddened body writhes and the pillow embraces his loud grunt with all its seams.  
“_Fuck_-!”

“So, not enough, right?”, Max jeers, and his hand automatedly clenches before he really thinks of commanding it to do so. He steers his fist to merely rest against the curve of Daniel’s upper thigh for a moment, scrutinizing the angle and foreshadowing what’s to follow. The backs of his fingers settle against Daniel’s piqued skin gracefully, the arches of his knuckles gleam ruthless and pale. Seamless, efficient, all of it.  
“What am I supposed to do about it?”  
“Just hit me fucking proper, Max”, Daniel puffs, his head hanging heavily above the forearms he’s holding his weight on now, cock pressing greedily against his stomach and slick glistening on his abdomen, voice dripping with want that soaks the sheets. God, Max is so _lucky_ to see him like that, stripped of his band of brightness along with his clothes, hungry and salacious. “Hard, with a fist. I like tattoos, y' know, I want bloody tattoos.”  
“You already have tattoos on your thighs”, points Max out before giving Daniel’s right thigh a kiss of his fist - mere warm-up still, worth nothing more than a nip. A test run before the actual event. “I like them a lot. But I guess a few more won’t hurt.”

Daniel laughs - the high-pitched, amused noise from all the PR they did together doesn’t fit _anything_ (here’s some PR for you, Helmut, two star products of your disillusioning little driver programme devouring each other’s flesh in every possible way), but Max smirks contentedly at both having made a successful joke and Daniel still having the brains to get it.  
“They fucking will hurt”, Daniel counters, nothing but wantful. “I’d really like that.”

Max grabs Daniel’s buttock with his left hand, digs his fingertips as deep into the sharpened muscle as he possibly can, just as painfully tight as Daniel likes it. He leans forward, bracing himself and forcing Daniel into position - he can’t leave Daniel much room to shift and his own moves have to be steady (he’d rather not hit Daniel’s crack by accident, let alone perineum). His cock aches at the sight alone, he could take Daniel with not much effort right there, now, with only a swift maneuver of his hand and a sharp snap of his hip, drawing out of Daniel a growl at the intrusion. Daniel is already bent, spread before him; bowed head resting obediently against his hands, both cock and arse up in what looks like a libidinous plea, something like _fuck me, Max, take all of it, never cared much for being able to walk anyway_.  
“Don’t hit my nutsack”, Daniel murmurs quietly. And it’s funny, how Max senses everything cloaked with the seemingly carefree joke - the nerves, the craving, Daniel’s way of saying _born ready_, Daniel’s way of handling being a bit on edge - 

“You never know”, Max answers, slips a small smile to himself and means _you know I won’t_. He raises his fist calmly, stares at the lines of the tattoo on Daniel’s right thigh. Among the red and green flower petals will soon blossom purple ones.

He doesn’t discharge all the voltage in his muscles with the first blow. Careful aim, swift move, his fist lands on Daniel’s backside with a pointed thud. Daniel’s groan is short and rough-edged, he flinches but can’t escape Max’s hold and pressure anywhere with his head so firmly braced against his hands and the pillows. Max watches in awe, head swimming with the repeated sound of his hand saluting Daniel’s skin again and again and again, briefly kissing his subtle arches and re-arranging the lines of the tattoos; and how Daniel’s cock jerks with the motion - with the wave starting from the spire of Max’s backbone and dashing through his joints and tendons, shooting all the way through Daniel, exploding into a breath Daniel loses and now tries to get back - heats his blood. The backs of Max’s fingers tingle lightly, and he knows it will backlash, hitting Daniel with all his might.

“Max”, Daniel gags, husky with the mind-numbing mixture of overwhelming pain and fire-like desire. “Fuck- hit the left.”  
“Yeah”, Max says matter-of-factly, shifts his focus and takes a moment to weigh the case. It’s always a bit harder for him to hit Daniel’s left leg when they’re posed like this, but the inner thigh has proven to be doable without much shifting around. Max squeezes Daniel’s rear briefly - it’s something marking the complicated layers of affection between them, perhaps, teasingly spreading Daniel’s cheeks just a tad with a couple of sloppy fingers before he gets back to the point. He sits on his calves and brings a fist to lay on the quivering skin of Daniel’s left thigh for a moment, moves it an inkling to the left, making sure he can hit the best spot. And not too low, Daniel is going to want to be able to wear shorts in Middle Europe with the heatwave they're having there.  
“Stop fucking around”, Daniel ushers, but Max can hear the excitement he never bothers to try and conceal. Daniel is annoying, Max deliberately prolongs the wait to get back at him for that, the familiar scrumptiousness of the whole routine makes Max downright shiver.

“I’m not fucking around”, Max states, playfully pinches the thigh and then hits - Daniel’s body arches upwards and forwards and he whimpers like the skin and bone of his inner thigh whimper to the satisfyingly flopping sound.  
“Shit-”  
“You should know”, Max concludes then as he gives the same thigh a light slap - what an odd way it is to soothe someone’s skin, a kiss of fingers, a war-hungry zephyr, an oxymoron. He squeezes Daniel’s arse again, gives it a harsh rub; he gets to his knees and returns his attention to the right thigh. Daniel’s body billows with his breaths and it wrenches Max into the same rhythm of exhales and inhales and the endless cycle of them.  
“Well, y’ know”, Daniel rasps, chuckles weakly to top it off, stirs Max’s boiling blood more and more. “How should I know what you’re doing nowadays.”

This is a limit - _Christ_, Daniel touches such a limit - whether by spurious accident or on purpose, Max doesn’t know - and he doesn’t know why, but he’s suddenly struck with a spike of palpable, red anger, and he catches himself having to wrestle to suppress it. His hand coils into a fist again, fingers curling into a tight ball he rests on Daniel’s right buttock, left hand gripping Daniel’s arse even harder. The tattoos drawn on Daniel seem weirdly smudged now by the furious rush of blood beneath them.  
“I can’t do this if that is what you think”, Max says gravely. There’s a violent twist in the pit of his stomach for an odd moment and he can’t find a way to ignore it even after it has passed. “If that wasn’t some kind of a stupid joke, say the word and we’ll stop.”  
“It was a joke”, Daniel yields and tries to turn his head, instinctively searching for Max’s eyes but finding them too far out of his reach and stopping the tedious movement short. “I’m sorry, I’m an ass. I don’t- I shouldn’t have said that when I really don’t even think that.”

Max’s mouth crooks with a steely smirk and the place of the violent twist suddenly takes a blitz of the irrational pride he well knows, a mindless will to claim and possess. His cock pounds in despair.  
“You really shouldn’t have. I should punish you for saying that.”  
“Your only problem is that I like-” Daniel starts and then Max seizes his words and air and all of him with a deafeningly echoing punch to his upper thigh. This time Max puts everything he has into it - charging and releasing all of his energy into a pinpoint of pain that radiates through both of them, recoiling from Daniel’s body and biting Max’s fingers, making his wrist ache with the heavy impact and snaking up his arm. Daniel yells into the bedding, a drawn-out, desperate howl.  
“Fuck, fuck!”  
“You like it”, Max hums over Daniel’s panting, completing the thoughts he has made Daniel drop. He has to give his hand a rapid shake, the backs of his fingers feel prickly. He can’t give Daniel many of those if he doesn’t want fractures. “That’s a bit of a problem, yeah. I don’t really know what I can do to you.”  
“Please-”, Daniel mewls, then pauses to breathe for a moment, as though having realized a second too late he’s stooped from being an ass to begging now. It delights Max immensely, and he watches on as Daniel grudgingly gives in to himself, trying to push his arse back but scarcely succeeding with Max still resting the weight of his torso against him.

“That’s one idea for sure”, Max teases. His fist uncoils and he gives Daniel’s hip a weaker slap, if not any less sharp. He lets go of Daniel’s buttock and gives his left side a mirroring hit, then grabs his hips with absorbing vigour and yanks Daniel so close the shaft of his cock meets the crease of Daniel’s arse with a slick slide and Daniel gasps involuntarily at the lewd feeling.  
“You’re all ready to go, aren’t ya”, Daniel remarks. His words are uneven with restlessly moving air, self-control thrown out of the window. “Fuck me, Max, fuck me.”  
“I was just thinking that it would actually be a good punishment if I didn’t do that”, Max sneers. He tilts his hips up, cock gliding between Daniel’s legs, up his crack, smearing his arse with glimmer. And he just bites back the embarrassing gasp of despair threatening to escape him - he’ll be damned if he shows Daniel, after the asinine slip of his tongue, how fit exactly he is to burst. “What if I just leave you there now and go to take care of myself in the bathroom.”  
“Fucker”, Daniel hisses, all the mounted heat still seeping into the grin on his face.  
“What if I have fucked around too much”, Max continues as if not hearing Daniel. He lets his cock slip in between Daniel’s thighs and shifts agonizingly slowly, pushing forward. Shit, he can’t do this for too long either unless he wants to end up climaxing all over Daniel’s balls; the drawn-out tease is bound to start to get the better of him too. Just a second longer, yeah, just until Daniel gets the full taste of his own medicine.  
“I may not have the energy to do you too.”

“I’m sorry”, Daniel pleads, audibly true despite his insufferable heat. Max rewards him with another lighter slap on his right buttock; he spits on the same hand then and gives his cock a few rough pulls, drenching it in the viscosity of his own slick and the spit, before guiding the tip of it to gently greet the curve of Daniel’s crack.  
“Y’ know I don’t- _Max_-”  
“It’s alright” Max soothes as he tilts his hips forward and can’t help a hitched gasp himself as he feels Daniel trying to push back against him. It’s going to take patience, going in without lube, slow, slow, the desire and resistance both burning low in Max’s body. Daniel feels so firm and tight around him and he isn’t even inside yet, just tenderly meeting Daniel’s eager hole. “Holy sh-, you know this is going to hurt quite a bit, right?”  
“”I should be alright then”, Daniel counters foxily, wriggling his forearms to keep them from numbing but staying in position. “Go slow, yeah.”

Max nods without saying anything at first - oh _shit_, he still keeps doing that from time to time and then he has to nod again with an accentuated _mhm_ to show he’s on board all the way. He moves forward so sluggishly it’s making his tense thighs inevitably vibrate; he stops with merely the tip of his cock inside Daniel’s wet heat to listen to Daniel groaning, raw and long, trying to catch a breath, trying to adjust to the enticing stretch, muscles feverishly pulsating around Max’s cock and making him grunt _fuck, you feel so good_ with a desperate will to simply thrust.  
“Shit, Max-!” Daniel whines, fighting against the caprices of his own body, trying to relax and let Max further. “Fuck- wait, _fuck_.”  
“'S okay, I’ll wait”, Max breathes, forcing himself still. He keeps rubbing soothing circles on Daniel’s thigh and lower back. The bright red skin he has brutalized earlier quivers under the now tender touch. He feels like the luckiest man alive, owning Daniel in such ways, seeing Daniel in such ways.  
“More”, Daniel grunts then and tries to buck his rear back, snapping Max out of his thin trance. “Slow, ‘kay.”

Max takes a firm hold of Daniel’s sides and grinds, tedious, the reluctant heat embracing him with suspicion first. He stops after an inch or so again to listen to Daniel’s erratic, breathy groans. He feels his eyes almost rolling backwards at the tight, heavenly feeling around the shaft of his cock, and Daniel’s cry at the strain is a wordless chant he keeps repeating. Max’s hand travels up Daniel’s side, then down, drawing a line of warmth.  
“Gimme a hit”, Daniel sputters, writhing and heaving. “Hard as you can.”

The hand spreading warmth on Daniel’s side halts and sharpens. Max feels blissfully scattered, everywhere - steadily burying himself inside the heat of Daniel’s body, keeping himself from moving until Daniel is ready, caressing the silk of Daniel’s skin with his palm and then suddenly shredding it all apart with the same palm.  
“Alright”, he says, gives Daniel another rub and then lifts his right hand fingers from him. It’s an absurd feeling, something otherworldly, to smack his hand down on Daniel and listen to the slap, feel the flinch and pressure around his cock as Daniel’s body tries to jerk away but can’t escape him.  
“_Shit!_” Daniel whines again. "Shit, you're so good."  
"So are you", Max praises, digging his fingertips into Daniel's muscular sides again unreasonably hard and earning a pained hiss.  
"Fuck me, just go", Daniel growls. The pulse and sweet tract of Max's cock inside him and the gorging pain of the hits, still lingering on him, mount into an intoxicating mixture of too much and not enough, all at once and nothing. "Don’t care if it hurts, screw me."

Max takes Daniel's words to heart and moves, _finally_, beat by beat. Daniel's flesh gradually relents before him, and _God_, how divine it feels every single time, how Daniel embraces Max and how Max fills Daniel to every edge in every way-! Daniel crooks his arm with difficulty and tries to fumble blindly for his own cock, but Max stops moving the instant he notices - bottomed out, Daniel’s warmth pounding against him, his every instinct screaming at him to keep _going_, for fuck’s sake - and leans forward to grab the weakly resisting hand.  
“No, don’t”, he orders, voice simmering rough and demanding. He arches over Daniel and brings the hand on the pillow under Daniel’s head, next to his temple; and after he’s found the other he pins Daniel’s wrists next to his head with the whole weight of his upper body.

“_Max_”, Daniel exhales. He’s lying with his left cheek flat against the pillow, and Max can see how his eyes widen and mouth spreads with surprise and pleasure.  
“Mine”, Max grunts against the skin of Daniel’s back, gives the crook of his neck an aimless taste of his teeth. Daniel’s shoulder muscles flex below him, he can feel the backbone and the grooves edging it pressing coyly against his abdomen, and rampant in him is the will to take, take, own. He snaps his hips backwards, stomach pressing against Daniel’s back and tasting the shimmer of sweat there; and he bucks forward with a firm thrust.

And he stops still for a moment.

“Please, fuck-” Daniel pleads, filled to brim with Max’s cock and his own arousal and helplessness to do anything about either. Max rewards him with a move, another snap of his hip, this time angling the slow thrust slightly downwards. He enjoys the sound of Daniel yowling beneath him, basks in the way it resonates in his abdomen and ears and beyond, and Daniel’s hands try to clench into fists but loosen and falter. Daniel’s thighs radiate fractious heat against Max’s, and Max moves yet again, giving Daniel a decisive pound. And another, and another - blending their bodies into one step by step, muscle against skin against bone, moving together to the tormentingly unhurried rhythm Max sets now, drawing a cacophony of hot groans and gasps out of them both.  
“You are mine” Max grunts along to the tempo of his thrusts, as though trying to ram the words through Daniel’s body and thick skull (Daniel’s tries to say something collapse into a breathy mess of curses and pleas every time). Max struggles to coerce himself into a steady, slack enough rhythm. He can’t afford to climax too soon, not before he can be sure Daniel is close enough to be thrown over the precipice as well. It’s a kind of agony for Max as well, the need for release is overwhelming, and he slides closer and closer to giving in as Daniel keeps arching back into him.

“Max, I’m-” Daniel cries, - a constant mess, this, him, his words and breathing, everything. He can feel it, it seems to start building up somewhere in his very _bones_, looming on the surface of his femurs and fanning from there with every lunge Max just knows how to aim by now. And fuck if this isn’t the worst of the worst for Daniel, inevitably coming all over the sheets and his own thighs without Max having even touched his cock, coming with his ass reddened and beat to bruises by this ex-fucking-teammate of his who is eight years his junior and who he, for some completely unfathomable reason, _trusts_ with this crap - why the fuck is it _Max_ who he-

As if it would help to mull over that at this point, Max’s cock buried deep inside him and breaking him with ache and pleasure, both undulating to and fro within him and slowly pooling into an apex of tingling bliss. Daniel’s body rocks and squirms underneath Max’s, every move heavier and heavier; and Max yields to it now, letting himself and them both be taken by the rampant tide. He is the first to come, he can’t help it, spilling inside Daniel with a prolonged cry against the curve of his shoulder blade;

but Daniel doesn’t take long to follow, and he comes exactly like he thought he would. Without his cock being touched, all over the sheets and his own thighs (plus abdomen, since Max still thrusts into him with the last of his strength, cock inescapably softening), beaten and fucked sore by this ex-fucking-teammate of his. He faintly registers the hot prickling in his eyes. Must be something to do with the hits. Will pass.

Max retreats with an exhausted grunt; he isn’t fully out before Daniel collapses onto the bed, spent and languid, and it causes a vulgar-feeling, sloppy slide of his cock that would perhaps make him chuckle in another moment. Right now he can’t bother to pay too much attention to the otherwise perfect source of embarrassed amusement. He shuffles and lays himself quickly down on Daniel’s side, rests an arm on his waist but doesn’t try to squeeze him closer just yet. Daniel’s eyes are closed and his breathing heavy, limbs stretching limply across the space between them. Max looks at him quietly and bites the inside of his lip. They look nothing but foul - stained with spit and come, sweat sticking to them like a layer of tarnished gold leaf. Any reasonable person would’ve shot into shower a good while ago already. But Max can’t bring himself to even fetch them a damp towel. He has no heart to leave Daniel’s side after battering his rear sore and fucking him near senseless, no matter how desired either act.

Daniel opens his eyes and peeks at Max through weighty eyelids. He faces such evident concern it plants a tight knot in his throat even though he's trying to wearily smile his way past it. They have been through the motions so many times - Daniel is hurting like hell but gliding in such heights it’s always been difficult for him to even begin to describe it - and he knows Max is on board with it, that’s not a question. But right now - staring into the ice blue depths that stare back at him, unmoved - Daniel wishes he had never said anything about Max fucking around. Not with Max’s hands on him. His blood roams wildly and not only where his skin glows red.

He’s not jealous. And even if he was, he wouldn’t have any right to be, what with it having been him who left in the first place, right? Max isn’t _his_ in any way, what would it matter if Max did fuck around? Spend time with someone who perhaps wouldn’t want it to hurt, someone less-

He thinks of the words _less fucked up_ before he can stop himself and feels an odd mental flinch. That’s what he is, fucked up, and he has got no right to joke about Max perhaps wanting to do better things in his spare time sometimes than fuck his ex-teammate and sate him with his fists.

"Are you okay?" Max asks then. The smallest of smiles licks the corner of his mouth and the blackness of his pupils. Daniel swallows heavily, drifting to find words like with Buxton in the cursed interview about his newest tattoo. _Pain, pleasure_. “Did I do it wrong some way?”  
"Nah, I’m okay, and you’re good", Daniel says. Of course. He is balancing between the itching will to close the gap between their bodies and how thoroughly dirty he feels with everything clinging to his body. It's like insanity, filth and purity. He'll stick to Max as though they were glued together if he sinks into his chest.  
“I’m just still sorry about what I said." It needs an out, this rawness tainting his extremities. “It was- kind of the act talking, y’ know how we get, but it just came out all wrong. I didn’t mean to sound like such an an indifferent prick.”

Max grows solemn. His warm hand gently lands on Daniel’s cheek, and Daniel oddly feels like it anchors him back to his body, back to the bed next to Max, back to Max himself.  
“It’s okay, don’t worry", Max starts. Of course. Daniel swallows yet again and the smile tugging at his cheekbones is truer now.  
"But I haven't- to be honest.” Max feels his mouth drying. "It would be quite easy now that we're in different teams, and I'm sure you're aware of that. But it just doesn't feel right, at least not- now, yet."

And it _doesn’t_ feel right. Even as a thought, no matter how hard he tries to dilute it with strings of words like _at least not- now, yet_. Shit, he’s fucking this up just as gloriously as Daniel, isn’t he, whole truths hiding in halves of jokes.

Daniel tries to lift his arm - his hand flops gracelessly onto Max’s bicep, but Max is quick to take the hint and stirs to coil a grip around Daniel’s waist. To hell with how gross they are, Max finds himself craving Daniel’s warmth against his sweat-smeared body almost irrationally much, as if all he ever wanted was for Daniel to carve his way into his gut and stay there forever. A funny feeling, doesn’t usually strike him this hard, this kind of neediness. Must be something to do with the hits. Will pass.  
“Well, if you ever decide to- dunno, take a look outside”, Daniel says and suddenly feels heavy, a hesitant grin to top it all off, yeah, “I won’t blame you.”  
“You never know”, Max answers while tightening his hold on Daniel, almost unknowingly, slips a small smile to himself once more and means _you know I won’t_.  
  



End file.
